


Wednesday Morning

by sadlikeknives



Category: Midnight Texas (TV)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-25 19:43:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17127554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlikeknives/pseuds/sadlikeknives
Summary: Just a quiet morning in Midnight.





	Wednesday Morning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Greens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greens/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Greens! I saw your prompt for Joe/Chuy domesticity and it turns out that was something I really wanted to write right now!
> 
> This fic is set between seasons one and two.

They were awakened about an hour before their alarm by construction starting up at the hotel, as had been the case Monday through Friday for the last several weeks. "It has to be done soon," Chuy groaned into the pillow, and Joe leaned over and kissed his cheekbone, his ear, any part of his face he could reach.

"Yeah, but then the guests start showing up."

"Guests don't have heavy equipment," Chuy countered. "Maybe guests will want pedicures. Or tattoos." Still, he knew what Joe was getting at. Outsiders in Midnight was destined to end really poorly. They had started to breathe a little bit, lately, now that they knew that Bowie was dead (Chuy tried not to think about the how, or about how he was glad she was dead), and that her zealous pursuit of them had apparently not been approved by Heaven. It would not be so easy to breathe with new outsiders coming through the town every week. He ignored Joe's advances, protesting more of the universe than of his husband, "Just let me sleep, the bread truck coming through from Davy woke me up at two AM again." Sometimes he swore he could smell the fresh bread it was carrying from the bakery there, but surely it was just his subconscious trying to drive him insane.

"They've got the jackhammers out. No one's getting any more sleep today, and we've got plenty of time. Might as well fool around."

Chuy flopped over onto his back and said to the ceiling, "Lem's probably sleeping. The bastard." If the vampire was smart, that sleeping cubby of his was soundproofed. After all, Olivia was frequently walking around on top of it all day. It had to be, didn't it?

"Maybe Lem," Joe agreed, his hand creeping hopefully across Chuy's hipbone as he ducked his head to kiss along Chuy's jawline.

He _was_ hard, and it was rare that Joe woke up in a mood like this, playful and enthusiastic. He didn't want to discourage it. "Okay, fine," he decided, "but you're doing all the work, mister."

Joe grinned at him, delighted, the early morning sunlight streaming through the windows turning him even more golden and beautiful than usual, and said, "Deal. Just let me make you feel good." Chuy was never going to turn that down.

After, when Chuy finished his shower and wandered into the kitchen, Joe had already made coffee, and fixed a cup for Chuy just the way he liked it. Joe kissed him briefly, then said, "We need to go grocery shopping."

"Or," Chuy suggested, "we could just eat all of our meals at Madonna's like we almost do anyway."

"You're awfully lazy today," Joe teased, a fond smile tucked into the corner of his mouth.

"I told you. The bread truck woke me up."

"Hmm. The bread truck. Sometimes I think I can smell it," Joe said, and Chuy grunted agreement. "Anyway, Madonna doesn't sell Astroglide," he pointed out.

"Ooh. Yeah." They were out of that, as of two nights ago, and Chuy was not going back to olive oil, thank you very much. "And that's not a conversation I'd want to have even if she did. Rock paper scissors for who has to go to the Davy WalMart?"

"I'll do it."

"You don't have to. I know how much you hate WalMart."

"It's soulless. But I don't have any appointments on the book, and you're way more likely to have a client walk in than I am. Just makes sense."

"I should have Olivia at some point, at least," Chuy agreed. "She texted last night, wants to get her nails done before her next hit."

"Which reminds me—not Olivia. Bobo offered me a job."

Chuy frowned as he took out the bread, which was down to the end pieces. They _definitely_ needed to go grocery shopping. "At the pawn shop? Say you don't want toast."

"I don't want toast. I was going to have cereal, but the milk's gone off."

Chuy put the bag with the end pieces back in the cabinet to deal with later. "Okay, breakfast at Madonna's it is. Job?"

"Not at the pawn shop. At the bar. I think he realized in the process of taking over the Nazi bikers' bar that their mysterious disappearance meant my clientele had taken a serious hit as well...not that I'm mad about it, really." They had put up with it, mostly because they needed the money. In fiction immortals always seemed to be rich, but Chuy had no idea how that worked when you lived in west Texas and had no head for investments. Anyway, he didn't want to be rich. As long as he had enough to keep food on the table and the lights on, and Joe, he was happy. Hell, he didn't even really need the lights. They'd lived just fine for centuries before electricity was even a thing.

"Well, you always hope they'll decide to be better human beings," Chuy said philosophically. "A few of them had stopped referring to me exclusively by slurs before the end." Joe's lip curled up, and Chuy ducked in to kiss him again. "You'll have to find a new route of artistic expression."

"Maybe I'll have more time to actually paint."

"There you go. Always a bright side. Well, that and the 'less Nazis' part." Chuy sipped his coffee, then asked, "So do we make the grocery list now, or at breakfast?"

"If we do it now, we're hungry," Joe said. "At breakfast, we won't be able to check what we do or don't have."

"Nothing," Chuy said. "We have nothing."

"This is true."

"Oh, I was thinking I might make enchiladas tomorrow." Joe subtly pumped his fist. "You'll have to make sure to get the stuff for that."

"Can do. You know I love your enchiladas."

"Is that a euphemism, Mr. Strong?"

"It is and it isn't, Mr. Strong." Chuy had to kiss him again, then, and it took them a few more minutes, between kisses and coffee, to get out the door to go to Home Cookin'. They forgot about the grocery list entirely until after breakfast, and when they went back to their building, Chuy stayed downstairs to open up the shop while Joe went upstairs to try to pull one together, occasionally calling questions like, "What kind of enchiladas were you thinking?" down the stairs while Chuy was giving Olivia a French manicure he would have objected to on principle if it weren't for the fact that it perfectly suited the character she'd be playing this week.

"You're making enchiladas?" she asked, perking up considerably.

"I might be making enchiladas," he said. "Will you excuse me while I talk to my husband about it?" Olivia just looked at him, and finally he caved and asked, "Would you like to come over for enchiladas, if you're in town when the enchiladas end up happening?"

"Yes! Lem doesn't eat food, and I can't cook."

"I know, and I know."

"And you make amazing enchiladas." Olivia sighed wistfully, like she was remembering some previous enchiladas of which she had partaken, which was very likely. Chuy and Joe frequently shared leftovers with her when they actually cooked, on the basis that Lem didn't eat food and she couldn't cook, and sometimes Home Cookin' was closed. It was only neighborly. "Yeah, go talk to Joe. I'm in no rush."

After a brief consultation on enchilada ingredients and a few other items they were low on or out of, Chuy returned to the shop and asked her, "Now, Mrs. Bridger, where were we? Or is it Ms. Charity?"

"Mrs. Bridger," she confirmed with a smile. "Fuck my maiden name."

"I know that feeling, girl," he said.

Olivia was quiet for a moment, watching him work, before she said, "Wait, but were either of them even, like, your original names to start with?"

"Not really," he admitted, "but I was just tired of it. Not the same, I know, but." He shrugged.

"You do you," Olivia declared.

"Isn't that why we're all here?" he asked, and then led her into gossiping about what they knew about the new hotel thus far, and how Manfred and Creek's and Fiji and Bobo's relationships seemed to be coming along. Well, for him it was gossip. For Olivia, it was probably intelligence gathering, or something like that.

Olivia was another one who could do with breathing a little bit more than she did, he thought, but she and Lem were working on it.

"Now, promise me that when you get home you'll either take this off or come over here and let me take it off," Chuy told her. "I can't be having people think you wear your nails like this on purpose."

"Hey," Joe said from the back of the shop, where the door leading upstairs was. "I'm heading out. Olivia, you need anything from Davy?"

"I'm good," she said to Joe, and to Chuy, "I promise. This is not my idea of a good time, either."

"Deal," he told her, and to Joe, "Love you!"

"Love you, too," he said, and was gone.

"You guys are gross," Olivia said, her voice and face fond.

"Look who's talking, little miss newlywed," Chuy teased, and turned his attention to finishing the job at hand.

Later, Olivia would leave town to go kill someone. Hopefully someone who needed killing, although even then Chuy had trouble with it, if he was honest. But it was who she was, and Chuy had lived long enough by now to know that some people did need killing, so maybe it was good that there were people like Olivia able to do it. Joe, who was, at heart, a very different kind of killer, although he had put that life aside for the sake of Chuy, would come back from Davy with the groceries, and he would put them away while Chuy, who had something inside of him, always trying to get out, that was more dangerous than both of them put together and twenty times worse, copied nail art from a Pinterest board for a rancher's wife. He and Joe might make dinner out of those groceries that evening, or they might end up back at Home Cookin'. At two AM the bread truck from Davy might wake him up, and if it didn't, the construction crew at the hotel definitely would five hours later. It was a quiet life, now that they didn't have to worry about Colconnar for another thousand years, but that was good. He needed the quiet, and it was the only life he wanted, anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> And then THEY ALL LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER OKAY BYE.


End file.
